Emotions

My goodness what a week it's been.  It feels like a month ago that I flew from Denver to Washington, DC for what I thought was to be a simple orientation.  How surprised I am to find myself 3 days later on a plane back, feeling as disoriented and overwhelmed as if I just came out of a tornado.  Turned around and upside down, although I'm now upright and back on my feet I'm feeling disheveled, unkempt, hazy, and wandering aimlessly.  I'm sure part of that is from the stress of an airport mishap, but alas I feel as though I should start at the beginning.  Forgive me for the lengthiness of this post, but as I said - a lot has happened.

I left Denver on Wednesday morning for what I expected to be a simple and somewhat mundane orientation for school.  Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to be starting school again, especially in Washington, but I do in fact feel quite prepared, and I went to orientation simply because it was required, not because I really truly felt the need to get myself… well, get myself oriented.  I left Denver feeling quite comfortable about moving to a city where I know just one person (my uncle, who happens to live right outside DC), getting myself around on the Metro, readjusting to school life, making new acquaintances - I feel as though throwing myself into new situations is something I do often, and I'm comfortable with the uncomfortable-ness of it.  The flight in was easy, I found my way around the Metro from the airport to school no problem, got checked in, got my room (and, delightfully, my roommate, who would prove to be a valuable and enjoyable companion for the remainder of the trip), and all set to venture out for dinner with a group of students to simply get to know each other.  Everyone at dinner was new to the city, new to the school, and we all got along well.  We laughed, hung out at a delicious restaurant, walked to get some fro-yo (delicious!) and despite the 80% humidity (which is going to take a LOT of getting used to, and a lot of patience for dealing with my ridiculously thick and curly hair), we enjoyed walking back to campus and talking along the way.  Everyone was a bit tired from their journey - I actually met another girl from Colorado who went to Arapahoe, and a girl from Colorado Spring, so I was not the only one who had been up all day traveling, but we enjoyed each others company to the extent that a group of strangers who are thrown together can.  We arrived back on campus, hung out for a bit, and then went to bed fairly early to prepare for Thursday, when the real orientation would start.  Day one:  Comfortable and Confident.

Thursday morning we woke up, my roommate (Tea) and I got ready (neither of us are particularly preoccupied with out appearance, so it only took us 30 or so minutes to get ready and get over to the dining hall for breakfast).  She and I found ourselves getting along quite nicely, and although we were in different orientation groups, we spent much of our free time together.  Neither of us had parents at the orientation; she's from Chicago.  Most of day one was spent in an auditorium listening to presentations about things I'd already heard - communication is key for getting along with your roommate, you're more responsible for your education, nobody is going to chase you down and get you to do your homework, don't forget to check your email, here's all the ways you can get involved, blah blah blah.  I know that many people come from many different schools and some people may not have heard all this information before, but having come from a large high school where more than 90% of the graduates go straight to a 4-year university, I've pretty much heard it all before.  And despite being bored out of my mind, it was exhausting.  Sitting in the same room all day, listening to people talk and talk and talk at you, trying to sort pertinent information from non-pertinent information, and trying to remember countless names and faces and where people are from and who I've told what about myself and what they've told me about themselves - honestly it was all quite exhausting.  Good, exciting, and happy.  But exhausting at the same time.
What I discovered on Thursday (it's something I'm still trying to wrap my brain around…) is that this past year has forced me (and uncomfortably so) to be comfortable with myself being alone.  High school was about ignoring my real self and trying to find someone else, somebody who I liked better.  All along I knew who the real me was, somehow I've always known, but in high school I ignored it, buried it so deep inside layers and layers of lies and ignored realities and hurt and anger and confusion that I couldn't find it.  It took all my friends leaving the area, some new people to enter my life and some old friends to leave it for me to start digging through those layers and layers of deceit.  I spent a year living on my own - not just out of my parents house and on my own (mostly) financially, but really truly alone for me to uncover everything.  It was painful.  It sucked.  It was hard.  There were lots of sleepless nights, lots of restless nights, lots of nights trying desperately not to fall back into old habits, ridiculous indulgences that I tried to cover the pain, but in the end everything was dealt with.  Everything was exposed, uncovered, revealed and understood.  And that took being alone, truly and utterly alone, for me to get to that point.  And now that I'm completely comfortable with myself, I can be alone, I can be quiet, and I can be comfortable.  It's and odd and sincerely disconcerting experience, because it's not something that I've ever experienced before.  I cannot explain how odd it is to consider yourself an extrovert (and not just a mild extrovert, but someone who craves people and interaction and relationships and discussion and dialogue to an extreme), and find yourself completely comfortable being alone.  In some ways I feel like a stranger to myself because I am still rediscovering this person that is myself, this new and comfortable and insecure and confident and passionate and broken person that I am, and yet somehow I DO know this person, this seeming stranger and yet somehow it's like looking in a mirror for the first time and truly seeing who I am.  This is new to me.  I suppose it's a good thing, but still, it's not something I realized had happened until 2 days ago. And great re-evaluations about yourself always carry some amount of confusion, adjustment, and strangeness.  Day 2:  Dazed, Befuddled, and Excited for a new chapter.

Friday was less crazy on the informational side - after discovering how bad I (and a newfound friend, Ezekiel) are at Wii games, thinking hard about myself, my new situation, and all the variables that go with moving to a new city 3,000 miles away from the place I've called home for so long, bed and sleep was both a welcome respite and an unneeded distraction.  But, eventually exhaustion won over and I did sleep for a solid 5 or 6 hours.  On Friday, we had less presentations to listen to and a little bit more free time, and more individualized attention.  I met with my academic advisor to discuss scheduling, sports, credits, various requirements, and other logistical things, and found myself thinking hard about solidifying a plan for school.  It was a very interesting and perplexing paradox of messages I got from Fridays schedule - one side said that I always needed to be thinking and planning ahead, calculating what classes I needed to take and what I wanted to do and look for internships and jobs and start thinking careers… The other side said that I should take my time, that I didn't have to make a decision right away, that I should explore and take classes that interest me and do things like play and study art and soccer and go to parties and make new friends.  Very very perplexing.  And I find myself surrounded by ambitious, intelligent, passionate people, many of whom know exactly what they want to do - they've got the next ten years of their life planned out on a timetable.  And with that comes my wondering… why?  Can't I be here for the simple value of the experience, something to add to my repertoire of experiences and conclusions and relationships and decisions that define and shape who I am and what my place is in this world?  It's an expensive way to get there, yes, but it's the path I've chosen.  I appreciate the assumption that I will be able to graduate in 4 years, but what if I choose not to?  What happens then?  Am I less of a student for it?  Less ambitious?  I want this experience to be one that refines my soul and my being, creating me into exactly the person that God has intended for me.  That, truly, is my only pursuit in life.  Everything is a derivative of that simple goal.  And so I hope to enter this new experience, this new city and place with the expectation that what is, is, and what will be is simply there because.  That's the only reason I need, and that's the only goal I have.  Take it or leave it.  Day 3 part 1:  Determined, Stubborn, and Conflicted.
Friday afternoon I travelled on the Metro back to the airport.  A bunch of girls from Jersey/New York were headed in the same direction as me to catch a train back home, so we rode the metro together, and I found myself enjoying the company of people that I'd never met before that particular moment.  I love that in this community, people can meet each other and instantly be friends simply because of circumstance.  Beautiful.  I arrived at the airport a bit early, so I got some food, sat at a booth with an outlet, plugged in my computer, and relaxed to comfortably watch some tv before boarding my flight.  Long story short:  After hearing that the Chicago airport was closed (I had a layover there to get home), talking to ticketing, much miscommunication, hooking up with my roommate to have some company, and getting myself situated with a few plausible backup plans, I find myself stuck at the Washington Airport for 5 extra hours. Bummer. Finally the long delayed plane arrives in Chicago.  Although the original plan was to make my connection, which had also been delayed, a mechanical problem on the ground in Washington set us back further than expected, and I found myself stranded in Chicago for the night.  Magnificent.  Thankfully, my mom (who I informed of the situation back in Washington), had spent the time I was in the air trying to find me a hotel for the night.  When I landed, sure enough, all the hotels near the airport were full, but my mom's overprotectiveness and diligence paid off - she found me a cheap taxi company, a room about 15 minutes outside downtown Chicago, and reserved me a room.  Fanastic.  There were no problems getting to the hotel, falling asleep (by the time I got to that point it was almost 3am), getting checked out or getting back to the airport.  And Chicago, now sunny and fair, is getting flights in and out smoothly.  Perfect.  Day 3 part 2:  Stressed, Bored, and Exhausted.
Interestingly enough, I found myself completely comfortable thrown into that unexpected situation.  I've flown alone before, plenty of times, and I am completely comfortable alone finding my way around and handling myself.  But having to change flights, get a hotel, and being stranded in a city I've never been to before were all new experiences.  And yet oddly, I never found myself uncomfortable or afraid.  I was actually particularly annoyed by my mother's overprotectiveness and her initiative at taking care of all the logistics in Chicago for me - my fierce and unrelenting need to be independent is something that doesn't ever go away, and more than anything I hate being coddled.  Until I remembered a couple things 1) her working out all the details while I was in the air meant that I didn't have to do it on the ground, and I got more sleep.  And, 2) I had to remind myself that it's not because she doesn't believe that I can't do it myself, she's just trying to be helpful, and to take care of things for me.  She would've done the same for my father, or for her sister - she knows that I am capable, she was simply trying to help.  And I still have trouble asking for help - I think it may be something that I struggle with all my life.  It's who I am, how I was raised, and something that is incredibly difficult for me to let go of.  I am not good at asking for help when I need it, or even accepting help when given freely, needed or not.  Day 3 part 3:  Frustrated, Relieved, Thankful, Annoyed, and Self-Conscious.

At the airport today I decided that I love airports (I sort of always have).  Although they are a sign of wealth and occasionally extravagance, they are also a symbol of opportunity, of cultures meeting, of very very different people from all parts of the world mingling, a reminder of how big the world truly is, and yet of how small it can seem.  A delightful paradox of so much that, to an extent personifies human nature.  I love the ride - the taking off and feeling like you are being rooted to your seat, the earth pulling you back and the sky beckoning upward.  Defying gravity and seemingly the laws of nature, of watching your shadow get smaller, the people get smaller, feeling contained and yet unleashed.  You get to watch people and cars get smaller and smaller, although it's so gradual that you don't entirely realize the magnitude of your height.  Suddenly a cloud will pass underneath you and you realize how high you are.  Then you hit some turbulence and you are delicately reminded of how fragile your state actually is.  Looking out the window you can see the random geometric grid pattern of fields and harvests come and gone, the crazy suburbia homes with their prefect cul-de-sacs and the backyard pools, and the exploding cities that seem so full.  The flying, the noise, the bumps, the smell, the cramped-ness of the bathrooms, the people talking, the people sleeping, babies crying, couples holding hands, siblings sharing a magazine, the overly friendly people and the not so friendly people.  The slightly absurd plastic cups, and the SkyMall magazine that sells overpriced and impractical, albeit creative inventions. It's a strange place to find a collection of so much that contains who we are, and yet it is as the same time exciting and exhilarating, a nearly complete containment of who we are and what it is we value most.  Day 4:  Peaceful, Pensive, and Content.

:)

Women and Glee

Alright, I'll admit it, I'm a Gleek. (If you are too, or think you might be someday, and haven't seen the last 2 weeks' episodes, you should not read any further - there are some spoilers!!)  I wholeheartedly follow the show.  I think it's witty, biting, hilarious, and relatable.  I think it deals with important issues, but somehow I walk away from the show feeling uplifted every week.   I refuse to make plans on Tuesday nights, so that I can watch the show.  I have to remind myself regularly that I really don't need to buy the music the night it comes out, that I really should wait until the end of the first season when they'll come out with a whole album of the music, which will be cheaper (somehow that appeal to logos doesn't overpower my love of good music, and I sometimes give in and buy songs anyways).  I think the vocals are fantastic, and the script is original and has started to "push the envelope" with issues.  It's a show that I can watch and say, 'hey, that was me in high school! I've felt like that, I've done that, or I've seen that.'

Over the last few weeks, a recurring theme in the show has focused partly on objectifying women, body image, and self confidence.  Its an issue that's very near to my heart, as I have struggled with it my entire life, I've watched friends struggle with it, and I've seen what it can do.  I fell in love with the boys' new rendition of "What it feels like", with Mercedes' "Beautiful", and with April Rhodes' journey.  My heart breaks for them, and soars with them, and I find myself traveling this same journey with them, an invisible bystander who watches with pangs of guilt, remorse, anxiety, compassion, empathy, anger, and almost every other emotion possible.  There are many issues that I feel passionately about, but this is one that stands out.

And it was an issue that I thought was progressing well, on a worldy scale, until recently.  I thought that, despite the incessant and sometimes unrelenting teasing and attacks on my strongly feminist stance, that people were making progress, that people were aware of the issue, and that many people, both men and women, were working to equalize an unbalanced count of centuries of oppression.  Then I met C.  He happens to be a guy that  I work with (i'm using an initial to protect him, even though I don't really think he deserves protecting…), and he and I disagree on almost every topic you can think of.  He regularly attacks me for my religious beliefs, my moral stances on issues, my political views, the fact that I enjoy reading, and the way I think.  He takes great pleasure in pointing out holes in my logic, in giving me impossible scenarios, in cornering me, and proving his own intelligence and the black-and-white validity of his own views over others'.  He's very good at what he does, and frankly, he sometimes is right.  More often than not though, he twists what I say into what he wants to hear, and rarely gives others a chance to fully explain their views.  He thinks he knows what he's going to hear before he even asks.  Normally, I don't mind.  I can stand up for myself, I can handle teasing, attacks, and the endless looks of pity and stupidity from him.   I had my walls up, he doesn't know nearly as much as he thinks he does, about me or the world.  And nothing he's said has convinced me that he truly is correct, and that I need to repent from my ignorant ways and turn to his cold,  harsh, atheistic view of the world.  So I let him attack and he takes full advantage.   And I don't really mind.

Until this week.  This week everything changed.  Somehow we got around to talking about body image, in the context of Glee (which, surprisingly enough, he watches regularly).  He laughed at my outrage, scoffed at my standards, and seemed arrogantly perplexed when I told him that yes, in fact, the idea that there are people who still think that men and women should not be treated equally bothers me.  He then proceeded to tell me that I was, in fact, wrong about what women need.  He said women don't need to be told they're beautiful.  That women who are more than 5 pounds overweight, who are ugly or who don't fit some beauty standard shouldn't feel beautiful because they're not. He told me that he shouldn't be socially obligated to lie to women about what's attractive (I don't think he's distinguished beauty and hotness yet…), women should not be told they're beautiful, nor should they feel beautiful about themselves if they aren't.  He insists that being beautiful SHOULD be objectified, and standardized, and related solely to external attraction.  He insists that it's a good thing for people to not have their self esteem "falsely" boosted, that feeling judged and objectified and inadequate and unworthy is a good thing, that it's not ok to tell a woman that she's ok the way she is because in all likelihood there's something wrong with her, something that needs to be fixed before she can be beautiful…. He told me that people are not created equally and that not everyone deserves to be loved.  He somehow tied this "falsifying of beauty" to the collapse of America, but to be honest I'd stopped listening by the time he'd gotten to that place in his speech.

I can't express how outraged I am- it's difficult for me to stomach!!  It physically sickens me to think of things this way; I didn't let on when he was telling me all this, but I wanted to hit him, and had we not been "on the clock" I would've.   I wanted to clock him so hard, to knock sense into him, to tie him to a chair and duct tape his mouth shut and yell and scream and cry at him until he understood.  I actually did go home and cry, for what he's failing to see in himself, in everyone around him, and for the hurt it might have caused.  I wanted to take all the broken pieces from all the women he's ever objectified and glue them back together.  I wanted to explain to him how insanely hard it is to be a girl, how he could never understand how much it hurts,  how when people (men or women) objectify and judge other women, it makes ME feel objectified and judged, even if they haven't said one thing about me.  I wanted to show him my scars, internal and external, to show him how much pain it can cause, and how much damage it can do.  I wanted to make him understand, I wanted to make him feel the way I've felt, the way I know many other women have felt, and then ask him to honestly hold the same stance.  I wanted to show him the movie Precious, the scene where she says nobody loves her, and play it over and over again until his heart was shattered for her.  I wanted to take a hammer and smash his heart like a mirror, and ask him to put all the pieces back together like women have to do every single day, I wanted to logic with him, reason him into seeing my side but that's the problem that there is no logic to it, it's all about the feelings, I wanted to make him feel it to see it to believe it to hurt it and feel the glory of it when you're no longer restricted by the world's view of you and show him how low and excruciating it can be and how high and beautiful it can soar.  I want him to see that all women are beautiful!! But he won't.  He refuses to see my side.  I want to write him a letter, but I don't know what to say.  I want to explain things to him but how does one explain such deep, complex, and vast emotions?  How can he ever see my side if he refuses to feel my side?!?!

And so I cry.  Because I don't know what else to do.


*Here's the script and a link to a youtube audio feed of the epitome of the last 2 weeks of Glee.  Please watch.   Or better yet, go to Hulu.com and watch the full episode (if you want to watch just this part, it starts at 33:00)

Mercedes:  Hey guys.  I'm Mercedes Jones.  So most of you know, Cheerios! is about perfection and winning, looking hot and being popular.... well I think that it should be about something different. How many of you at this school feel fat?  [Quinn, the pregnant girl, raises her hand].  How many of you feel like maybe you're not worth very much?  Or you're ugly and you have too many pimples and not enough friends? [more kids are raising their hands].  Well I've felt all of those things about myself at one time or another.  Hell, I've felt most of those things about myself today.  And that just ain't right.  And we've got something to say about it.  And if you like what we have to say, come down here and sing it with us.  

Here's the youtube "video" (it's really just the recording)

God is so good!

I'm so happy right now it hurts.  Not just a surface happy, not just a temporary, fleeting, mountaintop happy, but a deep, resounding, consuming happy.  So happy that I feel the need to sit still and just soak in the happiness!!!  

It's taken 19 long years, but I'm finally on my way.  I OWN my own faith, I FEEL it and LIVE it and not just say it.  It's been quite the rocky journey to get here, and it's taken some losses and some hardships and sometimes God just stepping back and letting me fall on my face over and over again.  But I'm here now.  I'm old enough and smart enough to have learned how to distinguish between the church and my own faith.  I've got a REAL relationship with God, not just one that's surface.  That's defined by what other people tell me. 

I grew up in a home where we don't talk about a whole lot.  It's not necessarily a bad thing, if you're like my parents who are introverted and don't normally process things by talking and exploring ideas with other people.  But I'm not like that.  If I'd gone to them with a concrete question, with a confusion or with something that I'd needed to discuss, I'm sure they would've been open to discussing it with me.  But I never really learned how to do that growing up.  Which is probably why I tend to be so closed off.  So I grew up trying to process my faith without community.  Without talking.  Solitarily.  And my faith was one that, though I tried, I never really owned.  I never knew that it was ok to not have a particular day or moment when I just handed my life over.  I never knew that it was ok that my life wasn't a compelling testimonial about a reformed drug addict or something. So I tried to make it like that.  And I tried to pray the way they did in the books.   I read a book that I didn't understand because I didn't know how else to feel righteous.  I drove people away with an over-zealous outward expression of my "faith", which in retrospect was a compensation mechanism to feel closer to God because I didn't have any other way.  I was so good at saying the right things and being holy and righteous, but I didn't know what I really stood for.  I didn't live it - I just pretended.  Thank God for my best friend, who saw who I was, but also what I could be. Who I could be.  And she loved me.  Regardless.  

Then I hit my sophomore and junior years of high school.  Things started changing. People started changing.  So slowly I didn't even notice what was happening to me, to the way I viewed the world.  People who I thought were my friends weren't anymore.  I got dragged into the middle of fights between friends.  I was involved in some fights of my own, mostly with my parents.  I started reading books for school and thinking about the things they were saying.  I found myself wondering, first about if I really believed what I was saying.  Then if I ever could believe it.  Then I thought about how dumb people were for believing that God could save them.  Then I thought about how dumb people were for even believing in God.  I didn't.  For a long time I didn't.  My best friend was still there.  Unconditional love.  

I was forced to go to church, which only drove me futher away.  I sat and listened to most sermons and listened to people sing worship songs and then gossip during the peace, I listened to judgement being unfairly passed, I heard the message that I wasn't good enough and never would be (which, although partly true, was carried to the extreme).  I heard the message that being a Christian means being eternally happy, that you are not allowed to hurt. 

I hit a rock-bottom at the end of my junior year.  But that wasn't my returning point.  I mean, it was the beginning of the end, but it wasn't the beginning of the beginning.  I started re-examining my closet atheism, but I wasn't a believer.  I had been ashamed - first of my doubts and then of my conclusion.  I hid it from everyone.  I still acted the part I knew I was supposed to.  But I started thinking again.  

Somehow, by the Grace of God (because there truly is no other explanation), I found my faith again.  I started reading my Bible.  I started reading other books.  I started talking to people.  And I stopped pretending and started being real.  I admitted doubts.  I talked to people.  I started living my faith in a community - first that started with me and that ever-faithful best friend, and then expanded to more and more people.  It's only been in the last year that I can truly say that I am a devoted Christian (though the label sometimes still makes me cringe).  I can say that I've defined my faith not by the church, but by my own relationship with God. That's where my faith begins and that's where it ends.  I'll go to church sometimes, if I feel called.  I need to find a church that fits my needs, not my parents needs.  But I have a relationship. I can talk to God.  Not just pray and walk away, but actually talk to Him.  Listening and talking.  Give and take.  A real relationship.  

And thank the Lord I had my best friend there.  Otherwise I might not have made it.  

And it's the only thing, the one and only thing, that gives me strength, that gives me this lasting, secure, and profound happiness.  God has blessed me so greatly with this life, with these friends, and with His Great Grace and Love.  And I am so eternally Happy!!!  

Precious

So I just finished watching the new movie "Precious".  It's something that I've been putting off for a long time - I thought it was going to take me hours to get through, that I was going to cry through the entire thing, and that it was going to leave me emotionally and mentally exhausted.  I've been waiting for what I thought was the right time to start it so that I could fully absorb the story and the film.  Turns out I was wrong about just about everything.

I'm still processing the movie, from both a cinematographical standpoint (Slags' teaching will never ever let me just "watch" a movie again without noticing every film detail), which I really don't think I liked, and (being the writer I am), from a screenplay standpoint, which I'm undecided about .

I'll start with the filming.  It seemed to be half documentary half omniscient storyteller, which threw me at some points during the movie.  The POV didn't seem consistent, and it felt like it distracted from the story, from the acting.  And this is a story that, no matter who the director, producer, writer, cameramen, animator... even if you had the dream-team, the story is carried by the acting.  This is not a story told through cinematography.  The cinematography can only set the mood and carry the transitions of the story.  The emotion and the heart of the story is in the faces and the voices.  And so the cinematography seemed.... off.  I know that it's closer to Tyler Perry's style, and since he did play a role in the making of the movie it makes sense, I'm just not fond of it in this particular context and story.

The screenplay is written from a book, and seeing as I haven't read the book (and thus this is my only understanding of the story), its harder to make a call about whether or not I like the way the screenplay tells the story.  I'm biased toward the book (I always am), but this particular writing seemed... too fast almost.  In order for the story to be powerful, the characters needed to be more drawn out.  I wanted to see more vulnerability from Precious, from Ms. Rain, and from some of the other students.  Those few scenes were by far my favorite, and I think that could've carried the story further.  I've never been raped by my father, or abused by my mother, I've never been on welfare, or been illiterate as a 16-year-old.  I've never stolen food, I've never had children, I've never been in any situation that even comes close to comparison to what Precious experienced.  I needed to see the more broken side of her to really understand, to make it powerful.  Because what moves me isn't watching other people be raped and abused (the act itself I mean), what really, really gets to me is when it breaks them.  When they cry afterwards.  Or when they cry the first five times and then after that they stop crying because it hurts too much.  I needed to see the progression from the inside - this felt like I was watching from the outside.  And if I'm supposed to be watching from the outside, tell the story from the point of Ms. Rain, the woman who is trying so hard to break Precious' walls down, to convince her that someone really does love her. I understand why they did what they did, I just don't think it was the most effective way to tell the story.  And the ending felt too... good.  What about the girls whose stories don't end happily?  What about them?!

I'm still processing from an emotional, mental, spiritual and human standpoint too.  And that, although more complicated, is also a more concrete reaction.

I cried more during "Freedom Writers" than I did during this movie.  Not that FW isn't a fantastic movie, or that it isn't worth crying over because it absolutely is, I just expected "Precious" to be more tear-provoking. It wasn't.  

The one scene, however, that did make me cry, also made me want to explode with Love.  It inspired an all consuming, fiery, indescribeable passion (dangerous as this may be for me) to try to love every single person that exists.  I know that it's impossible, to know 7 billion people and love them, but there are moments like this when I know that I have to try, that it is a pursuit that will carry me until the day I die.  Isn't that supposed to be the only mission that God calls us to in this life anyhow?  To love the way Christ loved.  And that's my goal.  That's all I want to do with my life - the rest is just details.  I will Love because He first Loved me. 

I am Love because Love resides in me. 

I am Love.  And so it is Love I will pursue, recklessly and relentlessly.  

I Am Love.  

On Defining Myself

It is so strange the way my heartstings waltz with one another... I can be exhausted, hungry, lonely, (which I not really ever, but whatever...) PMS-ing, not feeling well, hurt, frustrated, angry, even grieving and my emotions are fairly constant. While I might be a bit moody, less touchy, needing time to myself for no apparent reason, or less motivated (even sometimes more self-centered), I'm good at being stable, containing whatever feeling it is to whatever in my life they are due and not allowing them to carry over. Even on 2 hours of sleep, should someone greet me with a friendly, "hey KP how are ya?" I'd in all likelihood reply with a "pretty good. tired, but good." And while I'd spend the day trying desperately to keep my eyes open, my attention focused, and slightly less willing to stand up for things that I know are going to require energy in large quantities, I'm still, overall, good.

But when I get restless (ok, I'm always restless), I can't control it. The mood swings are violent and unpredictable. One day can be good for no apparent reason and the next day miserable even though I was treated with all the due courtesies (plus some) that are "due". I'm well slept and well fed and not stressed, but even hour to hour, I can find myself feeling relatively good, and then like I want to crawl in a hole and die. I don't understand how that one emotion can tinker with every other one of my emotions, how that singular discontent in my life can lead to so much stress and anxiety and hunger and powerful, powerful things. Pulling that one heartstring makes all my other heartstings dance and leap like puppets in an uncoordinated, slightly violent and choppy rendition of an urban interpretive dance of a breaking heart. Like new, jagged earthen peaks rising from the ground to the heavens in a majestic salute to the raw, unabashed glory of these imperfect molten creations.

It is interesting that in nature such sights are full of awe and splendor and inspiration and overwhelming power and beauty. Yet in our own lives, in our own hearts and souls, we cannot accept these grand and imperfect mountain scenes, but rather we prefer the worn, loping hills of rolling grasses and grazing flocks. But how is it that those hills were formed? How can there be peaceful rolling hills if the weren't first giant, gaping, violent mountains. Do we get to pick which we want? Or must we begin with the land, the life we've been given, and should we choose to, wear down these restless mountains into rolling plains?

Much as i hate this feeling, these crazy mood swings and the violent peaks of my heart, I don't know that I want anything different. Which puts me in quite the conundrum - there's this blessing that feels like a curse, that creates discomfort and pain and hardship and man other things. It's difficult to reconcile the suffering it causes for me and more importantly for those around me with the joy and relief it can bring. It is Love that both drives me and hinders me, that causes as much pain as happiness and yet I cannot stop myself from loving - from loving EVERYONE. I try not to, i try to tell myself that sometimes it's not worth it, that I can't possibly meet and know and love all 7 billion people on this planet, so I may as well not try, but why not? Why should I put forth such effort to become someone other than the someone I was created to be? So what if I fall in Love too easily? So what if my heart yearns for things it may never have, if my hearts breaks more often than it becomes whole? What if I feel whole by being broken? What if my place in this world is to always be searching for my place? What do i do then? What do other people do with me? How do I wrestle with restlessness when the restlessness forces me into these patterns which I yearn for?

There are many things that I am, but few that truly define me - restlessness is, for me, at the core of why I am. Perhaps it yanks on my heartstings the way it does not because it is a string that is attached to the others, but because it IS my heart. It is the driving force that keeps me alive, that courses blood through my veins and resurrects my soul from the depths of apathy. And although very seriously doubt I will be able to come anywhere near meeting, knowing, and loving everyone, I do not think, even through all the discouragement that this will stop me from knowing and loving every person I meet. I do not know that I could ever stop without dying because this part of me simply IS. And when something simply is, there's no fighting it.

Inspirational Non-inspiration

I'm so damn tired of inspiring stories.

It seems like everywhere I turn, there's another one - on the news, in the theaters, on the shelves at bookstores, in the house 2 streets over with the kid who overcame drug problems to be the next rhodes scholar... Every time, there's a formula: introduction, hardship, struggles to overcome said hardship, various setbacks, and then, somehow, in the end, there's a juicy, satisfying, inspiring ending in which Character overcomes flaws and obstacles to be a better person and change the world. When was the last time Hollywood produced a movie where the bad guy got away - and there wasn't a sequel? Or when beautiful girl number 592 didn't find her soul mate and fall in love? Or when the ending left you hanging - without any semblance of recovery, resolution, happiness, or hope?

I get the entertainment value in books and movies, that if you walked out of the theater feeling the same as when you walked in, the movie hasn't done it's job. That people need an ESCAPE from what's eating them, from their stresses and their cranky spouses and their miserable job and the pestering kids and the world that won't shut up, the media that tells you you're not good enough (that you'll never be good enough) and the sorrow you feel at the prospect of your parents passing, the misery you feel at putting them in assisted living and the guilt you feel for not visiting because it's too hard and the debt that's threatening your lifestyle and the nosy neighbor who won't leave your business alone and the ugly boss who's dumb as a brick and the pressure to get just the right gift for the holidays.... It's a lot to deal with. And fun, entertaining, laugh out loud or make you grip the edge of your seat kind of movies or books are a good distraction. Sometimes, an inspirational story is just what somebody needs to pull themselves up and say, "I can do it too. I'm going to go forth and pursue whatever it is that makes me happy" or "I'm going to fight this thing til the end, because I'm stronger than that." And don't get me wrong, I fall into that category too. I watch The Notebook when I'm feeling a bit down. I eat ice cream when I feel like I've earned it, even if I really haven't. I read The Alchemist when I need a little pick-me-up. I get it.

But what about me? What about what I'm going through right now? I don't have an ending written yet, I don't have a story or a happy ending... I don't know if my life is going to be a thriller or a drama or a comedy or a story that shouldn't ever be made into a movie. What about the girl who never finds her soul mate - the one who dies alone? What about the boy who never gets over the insecurities he's had since he was little, maybe since he was born? What about the young man who never gets out of the rut of poverty, or the tragically depressed husband who doesn't tell anyone and one day the wife comes home to find he's put a gun to his head and she never gets over it? What about the way I'm feeling right now??? I'm not sure of my ending, I'm not even sure it's going to be a happy one. I want a story to be like that- to end like that. To tell me that it's okay to feel miserable even if the end doesn't exist yet, I want a story that doesn't distract me from the hurt but rather lets me dig deeper into exactly what I'm going through. Something that doesn't need to give reason or rhyme to whatever it is that's hurting me, that doesn't need a happy ending to justify it but rather just lets me be with this part of myself, to get to know it better and to understand it and to just cry. To hurt for however long I need to hurt, without creating the ending with blue skies and tears of joy and a gentle kiss from my long-lost lover and and inspiring, overcoming story. I need a story that's going to hold me like my best friend does when I need to cry - just holds me until I'm done, and then keeps holding me. Just let's me be whatever it is that I need to be at that moment. Because the distractions, the facade that I've worked so hard for... it only makes things harder.

I think that sometimes reasons don't make things any easier, they just give it reason. And I do honestly believe that there's a reason for everything, that this is what NEEDS to happen right now, crappy as it might be. I know that I can't experience joy without having experienced sorrow. That I can't truly forgive until I know what it's like to be truly angry. And so this, this is allowing me to live, fully and wholly and without fear or apathy. But that doesn't diminish what I'm feeling. And so yes, there is a reason. But no, it's not any easier.

Afterwards, when I'm ready to tackle whatever problems this is, that's when the inspirational pep talks come in, when distraction is good because I'm exhausted from making progress. How can progress be made if the problem isn't even being confronted? But right now, the inspirational crap, well it just makes it worse.

Observations from a Pool Deck: Part 2

There are other, less comical and more serious observations that I've made, too.

Like the Dad who absolutely scared the shit out of me the other day. I've never honestly been that fearful of someone before. He was clean shaven. Wore nice clothes. Had no tattoos, no piercings. He wasn't even physically that intimidating (although not out of shape, either). But when I saw him playing with his children and step children.... I saw the makings of an abusive home. Perhaps I am being judgmental. But I just got this feeling... I've never felt that way before, about anyone.

The only other family who was in the pool was a dad, who had enough tattoos to be an art gallery, at least 3 piercings, wore his ratty jeans and old basketball shoes to the pool, cursed like a sailor, and was big enough to be a linebacker. But he had a gentle demeanor to him. I saw him playing with his kids in an entirely different manner, under an entirely different pretext. It was clear to me that while on the outside he may have been a rough, "bad boy", he genuinely loved his kids. He played what they wanted to play, watched them carefully, disciplined them gently, and was there to simply be a part of his kids lives, to enjoy their company.

The first dad, however, disciplined his children by holding them underwater for just a moment less than too long. Ignoring his 1-year-old who could barely walk, who I pulled out of the water at least 3 times when he found that he couldn't walk as the water got deeper. His wife (girlfriend? I'm pretty sure it was his wife, though I didn't look for rings) stayed quite clear of him, watching not with admiration or love or pride or infatuation or even lust, but with fear and anger and a general sense that she was terrified of him in the most savage and rawly humane way possible. And the icy glare he gave me when I gently reminded his kids that they were actually not allowed to stand on the peninsula we've got, and asked them to get off.... Made me shiver. Literally. Nobody's ever had that power over me. I had a minuscule glimpse into what it must be like to live under a terror regime - either by the government, an abusive relationship, or anything else that genuinely instills that kind of intense fear in people.

******

Or, the second terrifyingly real experience I had involves the dad, who, at first glance was just one of those slightly weird men with a little extra hair on his back with a little bit of a beer belly, and balding, greying hair.... who for some reason felt the need to wear one of those speedoes that should be outlawed unless your name is Michael Phelps or Jason Lezak.... At first I just thought he was a little odd. But then things got interesting. (Background: We've got a "shore" area - part of the pool that starts at 0" depth and gradually goes to 2' deep. In the shallowest part, we've got a set of 6 fountains that spew water for kids to play in.) The dad spent the better portion of fifteen minutes standing directly over the tallest fountain discreetly fondling himself. And by discreetly I mean the way one would go about said activity when they consciously know they are in public, and really shouldn't be touching themselves, but they do it anyways.... Not really particularly discreet, as far as subtlety goes.

As if that weren't disturbing enough, the young boy he was with (his son, who couldn't have ben older than 5 or 6), walked up to his dad and, through the Speedo, sucked his dad's dick. No, I am not hallucinating, nor exaggerating. The father, as if in a moment of delusion and forgetfulness about where he was and who might be watching, patted the young child on the head and said "good boy".

What does it mean for me to watch that? And then proceed to take no action? I am not a mandatory reporter, and so am under no additional legal obligation to reveal anything I may know about potentially dangerous situations. And even if I were, I would have no means of passively or secretly identifying the man.

I'm not under any delusion that sexual abuse does not exist, even here in perfect trophy-wife/soccer-mom white suburbia; I've known people who have been abused, both sexually and otherwise. But always, always it was a private act. While I'm sure the young boy did not know or understand that such actions are not acceptable, in public or otherwise, the father (one would think) would have either the sensitivity or the decency to stop the young boy before things went so far in public.

The image has haunted me since it happened - knowing that I did nothing. Knowing that I let the situation go, ignored it, simply pretended that it had not happened.... But it did! It happened, right in front of me!!! And I neglected it.... which, in a sense makes me just as guilty as the father.... But what should I have done? The thought has been tormenting me, haunting my heart - what WOULD have been the best course of action?! How does one react appropriately in that situation???? I cannot, no matter how many times I replay the situation in my head, come up with a good solution, an answer or action that would be justifiable, that would be good for the boy, that would be appropriate.... It is a weight that has borne down upon my soul since it happened a few weeks ago, and I cannot shake the feeling, that regardless of what the best course of action would have been, that nothing was NOT the right one. I suppose this is something I will have to live with, because there is no longer any (conceivable) way to remedy the situation. But I doubt I will ever let anything like that slip past me again.... I cannot justify any reason why I should not have taken action - that boy is no less valuable than me or anyone else... What can one even begin to say to such a situation - I was rendered speechless.

I don't know what to do - my soul aches for the young boy I let go. That I looked away from. And my soul will always ache for him... My prayers will always include him - that he might forgive me. And that I might be granted the strength to FIND the right course of action in the future.

Observations from a Pool Deck: Thoughts on People, Abuse, Comedy, and Hope

Being a recently moved-out and pseudo-independent functioning member of society, I've spent a significant (and by that I mean about 50 hours this past week) amount of time on the deck of a local pool, observing people. And some of the things I've observed are rather interesting.

For some reason, people seem to think that if they don't know the people surrounding them that they are anonymous, that nobody observes them, and that they can do whatever they want, regardless of the fact that they are in public. As long as it's a strange public, it doesn't matter. And that applies to the pool, too. Being a lifeguard, I get the wonderful opportunity to eavesdrop and observe people from a very close range without being suspicious, or intrusive -- for some reason, we lifeguards seem to be invisible at the pool until one of two things happens; a) we blow our whistles, or b) you become a lifeguard yourself. But as long as I refrain from blowing my whistle or yelling (which, on slow days, is quite easy), I am allowed to watch and listen to all the drama that unfolds right here in my very own backyard.

Observation 1: There are many different skill levels that come to the pool to swim, particularly before work. In order to entertain myself during those long, dragging mornings and excessively long shifts, I'e begun to classify swimmers into different categories. Being a highly trained swimmer myself (ok, maybe not, but I've been doing it long enough) I feel that I can adequately classify swimmers as I see fit. That's the privilege that comes with grueling practices and early mornings in freezing water.

Angry Swimmers: These are the people who think that the faster and harder they put their hands into the water, the faster they are going to go. It doesn't matter what sort of technique you have, as long as you get your hand in the water as fast as humanly possible, you might as well be Michael Phelps.

Gorilla Swimmers: These are some of the most painful and awkward to watch.... These people quite literally look like gorillas when they swim - their arms don't really ever change position, and they ineptly paddle themselves through the water in a way that would make you think they are either a hairless monkey or their hands reek of something so putrid they can't stand to have it near their face... Something that doesn't smell like bananas.

Fish Swimmers: No, these are not swimmers that actually look natural in the water. Rather, they are the people who somehow manage to torque their body in such a way every time they take a stroke that rather than swimming straight up and down the lane, they manage to weave back and forth between the lane lines, in a way that looks, well, something like a fish. Not a particularly graceful fish, either....

Pinwheel/Scythe Swimmers: These are the people who simply hold their arms at one angle (either completely straight - pinwheel - or at a 90-degree angle - scythe - and simply move their arms that way. The scythe swimmers end up swinging their arms across their entire body underwater, like their trying to harvest wheat with their hands...). It looks so incredibly painful and yet at the same time so incredibly ridiculous....

I-Don't-Like-Getting-My-Face-Wet Swimmers: These are the people who refuse to put their faces in the water, and the people who tense up when their face gets wet, and make faces that look so absurd it occasionally makes me laugh out loud (which I guess makes me crazy....)

Some of these categories overlap; for example, a swimmer could be both a gorilla swimmer and an angry swimmer

Observation 2: High school really doesn't ever end. Boys are ALWAYS the topic of conversation at the pool amongst girls - even 45-year-old girls. It's absurd.

Lots of women with small children seem to have friends going through divorce. Either that or the pool is the congregating place for people who fall into that category. You have no idea how many women come the pool to either a) vent about their men, or b) gossip about somebody else's man - and generally not in a favorable light, either. Why is it that water seems to attract cocky men seeking women, and women seeking to get away from their men?

Observation 3: It's all about the parents. (Generally speaking). There are so many parents who bring their children to the pool to sit at a table on the other side of the deck and play around on their fancy iPhones. Even on busy days, moms bring their small (and by small I mean can barely walk) kids to the pool, and simply drop them in the water and walk away.... As lifeguards (invisible as we may be, they know we exist), and we are expected not just to keep kids safe but to babysit. THere are kids I see every day who are barely talking without parents even on deck....

So kids, when your parents take you to the pool -- it's not REALLY about you. It's about them.

Observation 4: Lifeguards are ALWAYS checking out the patrons. Ok, so not ALL lifeguards, but most. Not occasionally - always. Doesn't matter that the moms are 15 years older with 3 children and a big fat ring on their fingers and the guys checking them out have 5 piercings and not even a high school diploma yet. And, for some strange reason, when you're at the pool, apparently it's ok for you to tell your co-workers about ALL the hot men/women in the pool at that time, and continue to fantasize about them.... Great.

All of these observations lead to one VERY interesting work environment. Better than boring, I guess.

Perfect Imperfections

Before I was born, God scattered all the pieces of my heart to the wind, to the four corners of the earth. I was born already broken...

I must travel because that's where my heart is - out there, in the world with the people, floating with the wind across mountains and plains and deserts... a part of me is missing when I am here. And so, if I am to serve, if I am to give fully of myself, then I must travel. For it is only when I have found and gathered all the pieces to my heart that I can truly be whole, and that I can truly give of myself.

*** Somewhere, someday, I shall find my soul. And when I do, all the world shall be at peace.***

Musings Regarding Clouds and the Properties of Thoughts

This is an excerpt from something I wrote a few weeks ago, 35,000 feet in the air on an airplane.   

There is a strange conundrum involved with openmindedness - if your mind is too open, every thing, every value, every philosophical concept, every image and memory, all your reasons and your emotions and your logic will simply lift up and drift away (for thoughts are light, you see - lighter than air - they're what keep you from sinking to the depths of the earth). Suddenly, with your mind open, you'll have nothing left, your head will be an empty pool, left to dry in the desert sun. You'll be a hollow, echoing shell. 

So what, you ask, is the solution? Keep some things locked away in the closet of your soul. Figure out what it is that you must believe in, what your rules are, your non-negotiables, establish yourself to yourself, and then lock them away where no one can touch them or disturb them. Take them out - it's important to not let them collect dust - use them, exercise them, walk them or drive them or throw balls to them and watch them play fetch, but always always hold on to them, and always put them back. 

And when someone challenges you, when somebody, somehow, damages or disables one of those prized possessions, or when you suddenly discover that the sky is actually green rather than blue, when you find (or when someone abruptly points it out to you) that you were wrong, that there's an error or a fallacy, exchange the thought. Take the old one out, throw it away let it float in your brain with a question mark, re-gift it to someone else, or drop it off on the street corner. But never ever let that closet find itself empty. Never put everything out with question marks all at once. For if you don't have anything locked away, if you don't have anything you don't unquestionably believe in (even if you might be wrong), you can't think. And if you can't think, you can't exist. And once you lose your existence, how do you regain it?

***********************************************************

Clouds are such unique and invigorating forces of nature - they appear soft, cushion-y, wispy things of fantasy, of dreams, of heaven and imagination. They appear as distant rescuers, promises of greener, more fruitful tomorrows. They appear as funny shapes, as shade on warm days, as gloom, as anger, as relief. They can be ominous, looming things, promises of danger and fear and destruction. They begin as invisible droplets, building and moving and building and moving offering everything and nothing to those below. Growing exactly where God intended into grand and enormous, marvelous beings with a depth and a width and a purpose and a personality. And then, exactly at God's design, they drop when and where and exactly how much they're supposed to. The clouds cry their lamentations to the heavens and the earth and Hades, and mourn the passing of time, the loss of a loved one, the turbulence movement brings. And then they disappear, lingering no longer than necessary, no longer than they are supposed to, and move on. The shadows linger a moment longer, and then those too, are gone. The only memory of the cloud is that the grass smiles and stands a bit straighter, dressed in it's best, most colorful outfit. 

Perhaps we should be more like clouds

New Beginnings, New Endings

Oops.  

It recently occurred to me that I had not posted on my blog in quite some time.  Not that I've stopped writing, but you see I've simply not had time to share my thoughts with anyone other than the select few people I show my journal to (which at this point, consists of what I think is a grand total of 3 people).  It wasn't a conscious thing, this stopping of sharing my writing.  It wasn't even really a decision at all, but just that I got so distracted, and so busy with the last few months of school before graduation that I simply forgot  Every time I remembered it was late at night, in the middle of a class, or in the shower - by the time I'd found myself a computer I'd forgotten what it was that I wanted to do on the computer.   And, slowly, it just drifted from my memory, and I'd forgotten even that it was something that I needed to remember. 

I've spent the last few hours of today "re-vamping" the blog, to focus it less on politics and society, and expanding the topics to include anything - religion, the young girl I met at Starbucks today, traveling, Why the price of gold is so high... anything of the sort.   My goal is to write at least once a day - short, long, whatever the mood of the day compels me to do.  

Hopefully, in the next week or so (possibly longer, depending on how distracted I get again)  I will continue to post excerpts from all my journaling over the past few months (for there has indeed been a lot of it), and then, continue on with writing new things.

As I begin this new chapter in my life, it's nice to have a "new" place to post my writings and thoughts.  Just like when I begin a new journal - all the pages fresh and crisp and clean and untarnished, it's a place that carries no baggage.   Or so I think.  But all the old posts are there, the me that's here today isn't really much different from the me that was here yesterday.  Just like people wait until the New Year to make resolutions about being healthier or a better person or more involved in their family life, or whatever it is that bothers them about themselves - people wait for a convenient place and "new" time to begin something new.  To begin something without any of the inconveniences of the past, to begin at a time that is seemingly of a clear beginning or end.  

But really, life isn't about black and white beginnings and endings, it's about dropping unwanted baggage piece by piece, slowly, keeping the things you want, and picking up new baggage.  Just as it's impossible to travel without any baggage at all, so it is impossible to walk the trail from birth to death without any baggage.  There's a quote I found that I think describes this in a much more eloquent way:

***Your journey has molded you for the greater good, and it was exactly what it needed to be.  Don't think that you've lost time.  It took each and every situation you have encountered to bring you to the now.  And now is right on time. ***

It takes all that baggage to make you the wonderful person you are now; every step you've taken, be it forward, backwards, sideways, a good step or a bad step, it's taken all of that to mold you into the person you are, and it's taking the person you are now to mold you into the person you are going to become.  Time is a constantly changing continuum, constantly moving, and there is no ending or beginning, but rather the constant undulating rhythm of life that carries us.

And so I hope to begin writing again, to follow this current of life and to have a grey continuation of the creation of myself.  

Captain Jack Sparrow on the basic philosphies of the United States Government

Remember that post I made about 60 Minutes? Interestingly enough, the story continues...

Recently, (and by recently I mean within the last 6 months), the EPA and ICE teamed up to raid the recycling company here in Englewood. The government apparently either took notice of the 60 Minutes lead or had their own, and eventually found grounds for raiding his storehouse as "part of an ongoing investigation," according to an EPA spokeswoman. He promised to have the electronics recycled safely in the United States. But 1 of 8 tracked boxes ended up in Hong Kong - how many more may have been dumped there unrecorded? Because the investigation is ongoing, there isn't much information being released. But something is happening.

This leaves me sitting with a few emotions, one of which is confusion. I met the guy who owns Executive Recycling (the owner of the company in question) - he seemed nice enough. Like the kind of guy who is married to a beautiful woman and buys his little s the big lollipops at the store just because he loves them. Like the kind of guy who's honest in his business and his personal life, somebody who enjoys movie nights at home with his family as much as he enjoys watching football on his boy's night out. He spent the day at the site helping us load and unload, when he took a break he brought back water for everyone, he offered to help pay for the pizza we ordered for lunch. He was helpful, kind, and seemed like a good guy - not the kind of guy to go dumping toxic waste materials in Hong Kong intentionally.

But it's things like this that make me wonder - was it an honest mistake? A malicious and intentional business scheme to get ahead, with complete disregard for anyone else? By whom? Or is the government looking in the wrong place? In a large and complex chain such as this, who is to be held accountable, and to what defree? And, is that one mistake (malicious in intent or not) enough to condemn a man to a federal court? Enough to ruin his buisiness, tarnish his reputation, make his family wonder about his integrity and honesty?

In recently watching the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie, a line that I'd never paid much attention to stuck out... It goes as follows:

(After Jack has rescued Elizabeth and been discovered as a pirate, and Norrington orders his arrest)

Norrington: One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness.

Jack : Though it seems enough to condemn him.

Why is it that the government seems to operate on the fundamental theory that humans are bad and are going to make mistakes? It seems that we have made so many provisions for the "bad" people, the ones who or abuse, who are dishonest and filthy, who degrade society either by their presence or their actions. Granted, there are people who are "bad" - pathological killers or repeat child abusers. People like the Nixon, who knowingly lied to get his way, people like Madoff who intentionally and knowingly lied to make more money than any one person could ever need. But it seems that much of our court system is overflowing with people who cannot be classified as "bad". It seems unfair that one poor choice, one poor association, even, is enough to condemn a man to a lifetime of unfair consequences. The government does not take into account all the wonderful things this man may have done over the course of his lifetime - perhaps bringing his neighbor food after he had knee surgery, putting his extra change in a donation bucket, smiling at the homeless man across the street and offering him the leftovers from the restaruant. Perhaps this man is a good man, a kind and gentle man, who simply happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. We expect people to do the hard thing, the good thing, without reward or notice. But when they take one misstep - just one - everything they know, everything they've worked for seems to fall apart. Is that really how we want our society to work - that for one wrong deed, we can conclude that the person is bad and they deserve to be punished?

There's an interesting quote I read in "All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten", which reads as follows:

You will continue to read stories of crookedness and corruption - of policemen who lie and steal, doctors who reap where they do not sew, politicians on the take. Don't be misled. They are news because they are the exceptions.

I'd much rather think that people can make honest mistakes. I'd like to think that, just as Jack Sparrow ultimately proves to be a "good" man, so too, do most people in this world. I'd like to offer people second chances. I'd like to take faith that people are, indeed good, and they simply go unnoticed. But often, society will not let me.

The Holidays

The holiday bring about a rare occurrence of events. Churches preach both about the dangers of becoming to secularly involved, and about the beauty of unrequited love and gifts, families find themselves in awkward situations that they can't get out of because of the way mom looks at you (no matter how old you are) when you say you can't join in for a family dinner, people find themselves in pinches to get just the right present for a price they can just barely afford, wrap it, ship it, and get it there just in time to set it under a tree until just the right day.

The beauty of this delightful season is the sight of your child's face as she opens the doll house she's been wanting desperately for the past 10 weeks, and watching your husband's nervous expression turn to one of relief and exuberance as he discovers that he really has bought you just the right thing, even though it only cost him $15, and it wasn't exactly what you asked for. There's a certain amount of joy found in revisiting old friends, getting masses of Christmas cards from people you haven't heard from since last year, in tasting mom's old cranberry relish that tastes the same way it did when you were 5, and spending time doing things you wouldn't normally - like having whipped cream fights in the kitchen at 3 in the morning as your cookies burn in the oven.

But there's also the incessant commercials that make you feel like you must get your wife a car for Christmas or you're not a good husband. There's the stress of shopping - no matter how much you love them, obligatory shopping freaks me out. I'd rather give them the present when I see it, just because I thought of them... instead, it looses some degree of meaning when everyone else is getting gifts too. Everyone's efforts to be politically correct overrides the feeling of the season, and creates a certain facade and code that people must abide by. Being around by my family to eat obligatory dinners with old family friends who I never see other than once a year, answering the same questions 12 times, and sitting awkwardly in a chair with nothing to say is draining.

So why? Why don't we keep up with old friends throughout the year? Why must we empty our pocketbooks buying presents for people because society frowns upon us if we don't? I'd rather just stick to the late night whipped cream fights and early morning cookie dough mask on my sister's face....

Truthfully Relative

So I had a thought the other day. If you believe that truth is absolute, then you inadvertently believe in God. God can't exist without absolute truth, and neither can absoluteness (in anything, but particularly in truth) exist without God. Not necessarily God in the Judeo-Christian sense of the word, but somehow, there has to be a higher power - if anything is to be absolute.

And, if you believe that truth is relative, then you do not necessarily believe in a higher power. Without said God, relativity is the rule.

Allow me to briefly provide an illustrative example. Lets say that two people are in court testifying about the of a particular third person. Now, Person A insists (and truly, genuinely believes) that they saw Person B Person C (who was found in an alleyway without any additional witnesses and minimal corroborating evidence). But Person B passionately insists (and believes) that they did NOT Person C. Who is correct? Is each persons truth relative to their position, point of view, and other factors? Or is there one correct truth regardless of what Persons A and B believe? If you agree with the latter, then somehow, someway, there must be some higher power to differentiate. It doesn't even have to be a spirit - it could simply be time, or existence. But somehow, there is something greater. If, however, you believe the former, then there is no need for a God/higher power, because nobody needs to differentiate, and therefore each person is his own God.

Which brings me to the dilemma - Can you believe that truth is relative, and still believe in God?

Conservatives

I have a friend who is a self-procalimed conservative. Not so far right to qualify as fundamentalist (actually, he's pretty centrist), but definitely with a strong conservative lean. And incredibly vocal. He supported McCain all the way through the campaign with an intense passion. He was even a little concerned about how liberal McCain had been in the past. But on Nov. 4th, he set aside his thoughts, and supported Obama. Not because of a change of heart, but because he was the one who had been elected. "He's my president," he said to me. "And I'm going to support him because I believe in the beauty of the American system more than I believe in my own views." Why can't people like him run the country?

On Community and Politics

I'm not sure why people only care about politics for about 7 months every 4 years. Some people don't even care that much. But it continues to amaze me, the amount of people who put elections on a back shelf after the elections, where it gathers dust for 3+ years, until the next election. Why? Why does the political arena only matter when we are electing a president?

I understand the need for both a political stratum, and an apolitical stratum - one is more involved than the other, based on a balance theory, like yin and yang. There has to be one for the other. But really? People don't seem to care... at all. Taxes, national security, energy policy, gay marriage rights; everything affects everyone. If we make gay marriage legal, it means that those individuals (who were previously taxed as individuals) now get the tax benefits of being married. Which means that the money the government was getting from them is going to have to come from somewhere else. Granted, it will be minimal - the tax increase per person would be negligible, but, it still has an affect - because we live in a community.

But we seem to have lost that sense of unity. Notice that it's part of the word community. There's a reason for that. Maybe that's my biggest criticism of America right now - we live in a world of greed and personal gains. Not of community. What happened to the days when neighbors would bring food to one another, when you lived within walking distance of the grocery store - and actually walked, when people said hi to one another on the streets, instead of avoiding eye contact? Where did it go? And how do we bring it back?

Energy - The Solution

This one is going to be short. Not because I believe the answer to our energy woes is simple, but because I don't have very many of them. Actually, I don't have any of them. These are more proposals than anything. And by no means are they complete or comprehensive.

1. Don't Drill Offshore. That's not going to do anything, and will only be a waste of money and resources, and perpetuate the problem.

2. Stop Subsidizing Oil. (Maybe using a phased out program, or a new law with a sunset clause). The problem is not just economic, nor is it just political, the root of it is cultural. And the only way the American people are going to cut down on their oil consumption is if it gets too expensive. Europe does it.

3. Develop alternate energy sources - immediately. Retrain people to repair wind turbines instead of a coal power plant. A variety of sources are needed, and that's not a bad thing. That's called security. If we can do it now and do it well, we can even sell the technology to other countries, and make a profit. Wind, Solar, Geothermal (on a small scale - I'm not advocating turbines over Old Faithful), even some Biofuels, and even (for a short time, as a transition) natural gas and coal. They are still exhaustible and polluting resources, but better as a transition fuel than petrolium.

Bottom Line - Get off oil. Get off now.

The Liberal Media

I was recently framed as a child-killer.

Not directly. It was passive association, really, and very vague. But it was there nonetheless. I don't know if anyone still watches 60 minutes, but last week, there I was, framed for killing children in Hong Kong by recycling computers. I didn't mean to.

Not that I'm really that upset about my association with that, I was trying to do a good thing, as was everyone else at that event. And, yes, given some research, I do believe that even the owner of the company in Englewood was trying to do a good thing. There were a series of steps that the box went through (and a variety of companies, not all American), before it got to Hong Kong.

I just think it's interesting that the media can so easily spin something that they claim as investigative to create a negative connotation regarding someone. They claim it's investigative journalism, they claim that they are trying to expose people who are exploiting others, to reveal the truth and bring justice to those who can't speak for themselves. But are they really being objective? Can they really uncover the truth?

The media, regardless of the image they try to convey, is a business. They have to capture and audience, and be interesting enough to generate a profit. And that's really what media is all about. It's just another integral part of our capitalist system. They have to find the stories that will generate the best pictures and capture the audience. So how much can we really trust the media? In that 60 minutes episode, what exactly did they leave out (or not bother to figure out)? And how come we give the media so much credibility? Was 9/11 a consipiracy? Is there information that the government is not giving us about the JFK assination? Not to critique investigative journalism, or uncovering the truth, but since Watergate and Vietnam, it seems like the media and politics have not been on the same side. FDR successfully used the media to win 4 elections.... but since then (although, some say Barack Obama's use of the internet is progressive) no politician has seen the media as an ally. So, although media sources can balance each other, it all comes down to this: What are we not being told?

Taxes

With the recent election, I think it's interesting, all this buzz about taxes. I understand both sides, and don't really know if I truly support one side over another. But, I do think it's interesting to see the American People's reaction to taxes. Here in Denver, on election day, Denver Public Schools passed a tax raise to increase funding for their struggling schools. But in Douglas County, one of the more affluent counties in the area, a simmilar tax failed to pass. Hmmm.......

I think it's fascinating that the American people pay some of the lowest taxes in the world, and yet we continue to hold tightly to all that we have. Our schools are struggling, roads in disrepair, economy and energy situation in crisis, and yet $3.50 a gallon for gas is too expensive, despite already heavily subsidized prices. We have, in my interpretation, this sense of greed, general distrust, and entitlement. We want the best out of everything without giving anything. (I'm being cynical here, this isn't entirely true.) People are willing, in this struggling economy, to pay $1000 for a super bowl ticket, but not $200 a year in property taxes to assist a struggling community. Why is that? Why is it that we feel that we must be allowed to spend our money how we choose, despite the desperate need of some, and the failing state of some of our communities? How can people justify sending their children to schools that are failing to employ enough teachers and spend money doing frivilous things?

Isn't it the job of the government, and of citizens as members of a larger community, to hold one another accountable, to support one another, and to carry each other through times of crisis? How does keeping reasonable and logical taxes fit into that?

I don't pretend to have an answer, or know the solution. I am not an economic specialist (or a specialist at all, really). I'm just wondering. And what, if not raise taxes, are we going to do about our floundering infrastructure?

Election

Barack Obama won. I'm sure everyone knows that by now, but the sound of it, a resonating "President Obama," still makes my heart sing. : ) Throughout my short life, I can recall very few political events, and none like this. In my much younger years, I vaguely recall the Monica Lewinsky Scandal, though I knew nothing about it at the time, and since then few snippets of political happenings. The 2000 elections with the Florida recount crisis, 9/11, the invasion of Iraq, the 2004 elections, and few political speeches in between. At the time, I did not even remotely understand the implications or importance of what was going on, the decisions that were being made. It was simply happening, and something that we tried to talk about in school without much success, or understanding.

But this year, this time, I remember. And I understand. It's phenomenal, the transformation I have seen in myself. I can remember the first time I heard Barack Obama's name, at a book signing in Denver in late 2005. And since then, I have grown from a skeptic to a passionate supporter. Finally, I've begun to think for myself, to realize my own political clout, as well as others. And the importance of the American political process.

The years in which I have grown up have been dismal, as far as political stance and pride go. Travelling, and hearing of others' travels, made me understand that America was hated, looked down upon, worldwide. I felt the need to defy American sterotypes, to bridge my heritage and redeem, by some small action, my corner of the American image.

Although the elections are over (and how delightful they were, on most counts at least) I know this has been incrediby important. I (as a young, liberally leaning woman) have found myself inspired by our President-Elect. His rhetoric, yes, played a significant role. But more than that, the way he speaks of America, of his hertiage, of his pride, has made me the most proud I have ever been. Although my life has been short thus far, and I indeed have not paid that much attention to politics until this election season, I have found myself fascinated with modern politics. Barack Obama has inspired me in a way I didn't know was possible, has brought me hope and pride I have never felt before, and has, for me, awakened my political drive.

Although it was a close race, with valid arguments presented by all, fought hard by both sides, it is over now. Despite the residual tensions, the anger and frustration by all about one issue or another, it is my hope that we can take a lesson from Senator John McCain. His gracious and heartfelt acceptance speech was humbling and refreshing, and it is my hope that we can accept our differences, pick up the pieces of this battle, and move together behind our newly elected president. Because if we don't, that will be more divisive than anything else.

Energy - Offshore Drilling

Ok, so this is energy, part 2. Offshore drilling is such a big topic that it gets its own section. : )

Offshore drilling involves drilling into deepsea and/or continental shelf wells of oil reserves to extract and refine the oil for the consumer. Some people seem to think it's going to be a magic and quick fix to the oil problem. It's not. Here's the deal with offshore drilling:

1. It's incredibly expensive to remove the oil. The deeper it is, the more difficult (and hence more expensive) it is to get at. Even offshore drilling on the continental shelf is significantly more expensive than land drilling. Because it costs more to find it, produce and put in place the technology to remove it, remove it, and get it refined and to the consumer, the net energy is drastically reduced, and therefore becomes an incredibly inefficient way to produce energy.

2. It will take a while to get the oil out, and even when we do, it may not go into the American market. Just because it's "domestic" drilling (technically anything further than 12 miles offshore is international) doesn't mean that it's going to go directly into our market. The independent companies are going to sell the oil to the highest bidder - and that is most likely going to be China. We have some of the cheapest gas in the world right now (Europe pays between 6 and 9 dollars a gallon in many places, Canada about 5, and China about 6), and the government subsidies are growing because of the rapidly increasing demand and decreasing supply. Other countries are paying much higher prices than we are, and the gas will go to them first.

Now, there is a valid point that adding oil to the market, regardless of where it goes, will increase the overall supply and therefore lower prices, but the amount of oil we are going to get from our shores (and even our land), compared to the amount the world produces, is not going to lower the prices by much, esepcially with government subsidies.

3. Only about 35-70% of available oil is actually removed from the drilling site. This leaves us with open wells and unprofitable drilling riggs offshore. Often, the projected costs and net energy are calculated using the highest of these rates (anywhere from 60 - 100% extraction), and when less is removed, prices skyrocket, and net energy plummets.

4. Fish don't particularly like to swim around drilling rigs. The environmental impacts, the costs to restore lost fish populations, coral structures, and other damages match or often exceed the amount of profit made from offshore drilling rigs. And the impact can be deadly for some species. The highly concentrated human activity, particularly when setting up a rig, interferes with the natural cycle of fish reproduction, and since tropical fish and coral reefs are already sensitive to change, the damages outweigh the benefits. The risk of spillage, seepage, and other environmental damages have drastic and irrevocable consequences.

5. The net energy of oil from offshore drilling is much lower than that of other resources. The cost of setting up a rig, drilling into the continental shelf, protecting against environmental damages (which is often overlooked to increase profits), transporting the crude oil to a refinery, refining the oil into usable petrolium, transporting the petrolium around the country to be either put into cars and released, or further refined into other products such as plastics and rubbers, then, when the life of that product is up, appropriately disassembling it for degration, is enormous. Often, what we find is that the environmental protection and proper disassembling factors are largely ignored to increase profit.

Ultimately, it's a short term fix for a long term problem (which nobody can really deny), and we are eventually going to have to move on. Why should we waste resources and time and precious environmental land to fix soemthing that we wouldn't be fixing? See a problem yet?